


Into the Depths

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark elements, M/M, Medical Procedures, emotional torture, not a happy fic, prisoner elements, psychological abuse, strong non-con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark, depressing one-shot episode tag to 'Lethe'.  Please see warnings/notes at the beginning of the story.  This fic has absolutely no happy moments, cuteness or redeeming qualities of any kind.  Abandon hope all ye who enter here.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Depths

Title: Into the Depths  
One-shot Episode Tag to ‘Lethe’  
Rating: M (please see warnings)  
Characters: Harold Finch, Hersh, Ma’am

 **WARNINGS:** Psychological abuse, torment, implied Rinch, strong elements of non-con and angst. This is a horrible, depressing story with no redeeming features or flashes of happy anywhere. If these words upset you then I beg of you don’t read it. Just....don’t.

NOTES: I went back and watched the last ten minutes of ‘Lethe’ again this morning and this scenario popped into my brain almost whole-cloth. It is dark, angsty, ugly and made me hate Ma’am even more than I did at the end of the episode. 

Please heed the warnings above, this is in no way a happy, fluffy story. It is one that I felt compelled to write and not everyone will like it. Its contents are my personal opinions on what I think would bother Finch the most after he falls into the hands of Ma’am and her minions. For better or much, much worse, this is the result.

**takentakentakentakentaken**

 

_They took him.... **elsewhere**. To some unnamed facility, buried so deep in a camouflage of secrecy that not even the genius he was could have found him. They separated him from Arthur and Shaw, taking them off in different directions. He was marched down seemingly endless, windowless corridors of concrete. The unwavering temperature told him that he was underground but beyond that useless fact, nothing._

_In a small, bare room he was greeted by Hersh, two men clad in the white coats of doctors (military almost certainly) and the woman everyone only referred to with great deference as Ma'am. The recluse kept his eyes front, staring into the middle distance with the same cool detachment that had enabled him to survive the public school system as a child and the posturing contempt of male hierarchy in adulthood._

_She didn’t smile or gloat now; her face neutral as that of her prisoner. She studied the man before her....this dark horse who’d come out of nowhere to attempt to suborn her plans only to aid her by preventing Claypool’s capture by Vigilance. She’d studied him from the sidelines as Arthur reconnected with ’Harold’; enthusiastically discussing their college days and answering his mysterious friend’s questions about ’Samaritan’. She realized who he must be as soon as her former agent followed his lead in the hospital and couldn’t believe her luck._

“You’re going to be with us for quite some time _Harold_. I assume you’d like to remain casual since you’ve still refused to give us your last name.” Ma’am tilted her head to one side, a hint of admiration entering her voice as she continued. 

“You are aware, I’m sure that we’ve entered your physical stats into our recognition programs. Your laptop and phone are being deconstructed even as we speak and the identification in your wallet, back-traced. It’s only a matter of time before I know exactly who you are. Of course you could just _tell_ me. Who you are, where your system is; deal with me honestly. Your time with us would be much more comfortable and of shorter duration.”

Finch made no reply. It was as if he were alone in the room; none of the others even warranting the modicum of attention it would take to actively ignore them. She nodded.

“I understand your position,” her tone hardened as she stepped up to him, forcing the smaller man to make eye contact at last, “and now Harold, it’s time for you to fully understand mine.”

“You will remove your clothing, including your glasses and place each article on the table next to you. If you do not do so voluntarily, guards will undertake the task for you and they will not be gentle. These doctors will examine you and then you will be taken to a holding cell.”

She stepped back and two of the armed escort that had accompanied them from the hotel, laid aside their weapons; clearly prepared to carry out their superior’s threat. 

Finch’s eyes moved from the soldiers to the woman’s, knowing that there were only two options open to him at this point. He swallowed, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting it drop onto the table. He pulled his awareness inside himself again as his fingers moved on auto-pilot, baring his body to his watchers one layer at a time. 

As each garment was shed, it was sealed in an evidence bag, marked and placed in a plastic bin. Finch realized that none of it was going to be returned and stopped when he reached his underwear. 

“Everything, Harold. You do it or he will.” Ma’am nodded to the other soldier who’d been standing at ease....waiting. 

The recluse and slid the silk boxers down his hips, stepping out of them and placing them on the table along with his spectacles; coloring slightly as both items were immediately bagged and added to the bin. Finch stared at the blank wall in front of him, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room slide over his skin; assessing... _judging_ him. Academically, he knew what they were doing. By forcing him to strip and for all practical purposes rendering Harold blind, his captors were trying to break him down; de-humanize him to the point where he would capitulate to their demands. 

Knowing this of course did nothing to diminish the humiliation that washed over him. He had always been very body shy, even as a child. This had increased exponentially after his injuries. To have himself put on display in this manner was repulsive to him on a visceral level. The uncertainty of being unable to see only added to his discomfort. 

The doctors stepped forward and began their physical examination; gloved hands moving over his body in a professionally detached manner. Quiet comments were murmured to the soldier minding the evidence bin, who jotted them down the clipboard he now held. Finch was made to lean over the table, bracing his palms on the top as his legs were spread. One gloved and lubricated finger inserted itself between his buttocks, pressing into him to find his prostate as another inspected his penis and testicles. 

The hands were withdrawn and Harold straightened up, hearing the _snap_ of the exam gloves being removed and tossed into a waste can. He was made to stand once again in the center of the room and this time, when the hands touched him, they were ungloved. 

The touches were gentle, almost caressing. Barely there strokes, not on his nipples or genitals but on his neck.... _on his scars_. Finch’s eyes flew open and for the first time he protested.

“No!” He tried to shrug them off, only to have his shoulders and wrists pinioned by the two soldiers. Finch struggled, gasping as his upper extremities were flexed further, rendering him largely immobile. 

Helpless to stop them, Harold seethed in fury as the doctor continued to fondle his surgical scar. There was nothing _clinical_ about these touches. This forced intimacy had a much more insidious purpose. When the second doctor’s bare hand stroked the gnarled line of tissue at his hip, Finch’s body jerked. He hissed in pain as the movement jarred his compromised frame, causing his neck and lower back to throb.

The caresses continued, mapping the puckered ridges of dense tissue and the indentions where chunks of irreparably damaged muscle had been removed long ago. Finch couldn’t control the gut twisting rage that coursed through him. _How dare they?!_ No-one had ever seen him like this....there is no-one he would have allowed to except-

In his most private fantasies, Harold envisioned showing himself to Reese. Had imagined the op exploring his damaged body with strong, warm hands; his touch reverent and loving and ultimately sharing all of himself with Finch. In the deepest part of the night, Harold had brought himself to completion more than once with these images before his mind’s eye.

John would never be the first to see him, to _touch_ him this way. When that communion came, if it ever did, the moment would be forever tainted by what was being done to him now. To have the hope of such a possibility taken from him by force was more of a true rape than any sexual molestation could have been for Harold. Finch’s knees buckled; the fight draining out of him as he sobbed brokenly.

“Stop......stop it....leave me alone!”

The hands continued to grope him as the woman leaned in close, seemingly speaking to him alone but her words were audible to everyone in the room.

“Harold, you have no-one to blame for this situation but yourself. You could have told me what I wanted and we would have treated you with respect and courtesy. You chose to be obstinate, uncooperative; knowing full well that there would be repercussions.”

Ma’am’s tone dripped scorn. “You _asked_ for it Harold, so stop your pathetic sniveling and take what you deserve.”

All at once, Finch was man-handled over to the table, lifted up and laid facedown on it. His wrists and ankles were securely held and the doctors mercilessly stroked and teased every inch of damaged tissue on his neck, back and leg. Harold bit his lip to keep from voicing any further sound but the tears dripped unchecked down his chin to pool on the cold metal surface beneath him. 

In the end, he was carried from the room on a gurney, nearly catatonic by the time they ceased their torments. Finch lay face up on the mobile cot; naked, restrained but too far sunk in his own misery to even give thought to the fact that he was so exposed. They left him in a ten by ten foot concrete cell with a cot in one corner and a prison standard steel toilet/washbasin in another. 

A security camera was mounted in the corner diagonal to the toilet, so that the entire cell was under observation. Finch was dumped on the bare mattress where he lay unmoving. A blaze orange jumpsuit was tossed on the floor and the door secured. Harold made no sound but after a moment his body began to tremble as he once again gave into despair. 

A single glass eye above him bore witness to his sorrow; the steady blinking red LED the only indication that there was anyone watching.

**takentakentakentakentaken**

NOTES: Okay, yeah so that was a major downer......Sorry to anyone who didn’t like it but as I’ve said before, this series takes my brain to very dark places from time to time and I just have to go with it. I did warn you. 

There will not be a continuation of this scenario, it was never intended to be a hurt/rescue/comfort story but a one-off look into Finch’s psyche. It reared its ugly head, I wrote it, purged my brain and now can go back to my lighter, fluffier, Rinch fueled prompt stories with a clean palate. On a happier note, the second chapter of 'Stuffed' will be posted by tonight, if I still have any readers left after this (lol).

Thanks for reading.


End file.
